The Teapot
by kalkinsam
Summary: Dean finds a teapot in the Men of Letters storage room, and hilarity and fluff ensues. Fixit for S9 Captives. Currently one-shot. May be continued in sequels. Disclaimer: not mine, I play with others toys.


AN: Right now, this is a one-shot fixit. This is subject to change (I have a specific idea of where this goes, but I'm not sure how to make that happen just yet). Takes place after Captives (S9). And reviews are love.

The first time it happened, Dean was in the Men of Letters storage room looking for a notebook Sam decided they needed to look at and bitching to himself about how Sam—his baby brother, Sam—had lied to Kevin's ghost about stopping the fighting; Sam always had a tell—he cleared his throat right after telling a boldface lie, and Sam had done that. He had _lied_ to Kevin's ghost about stopping the fighting; first, did Dean mention that Sam lied to Kevin? And second, if he lied to Kevin, then what? He never intended to stop treating Dean like this? This was the new permanent situation?

With these thoughts swirling in Dean's mind, he picked up a teapot from the storage box roughly—Sam liked tea, right? So he took the teapot to the kitchen, rinsed it out, and made some tea for his baby brother—who he loved and adored and couldn't think of a bad thing about him—and took it in a matching teacup to Sam's bedroom.

He knocked on the door out of habit, but then barged in, set the steaming cup of tea on the bedside table while Sam looked at him with a strange look; Dean nodded to his reclining brother, then turned to leave.

Sam, looking nonplussed and angry—Dean wondered why—and picked up the still-steaming teacup like he was going to hurl it, but as soon as his hand touched the teacup, his whole stance changed, and he smiled sheepishly at Dean; he nodded and left Sam to his work—whatever it was.

Later that day, Dean rinsed out the teapot he found—and noticed the lid was cracked. Sam was still in his room, so he meandered to the room he found the teapot in and figured he'd organize it in a way he knew Sam would both understand and like—and ran his hand over his 5-o'clock shadow debating just how to do so, when his fingernail scratched into his not-quite-beard—and Sam had promised—_promised_—Kevin's ghost they would stop fighting, and then cleared his throat, a sure sign he was lying. And where was the little bitch now? Still locked up in his room, moping, he was sure. But, maybe Dean should just give him a little space, and try to figure out why Sam was doing what he was doing—after all, when he split with Sam last time, his brother had told him to leave, that it wasn't why he thought it was… maybe, maybe if he could just figure out _why_ Sam had told him to leave, figured out _why_ Sam was upset (not _mad_, the little bitch), he might, just might, be able to repair it.

Dean went to the batcave's kitchen to fix something to eat, and was surprised to find Sam in there cooking. Sam was cooking—something delicious by the smell—and Dean didn't want to disturb him, because Dean was sure Sam only cooked for himself these days—all professional relationship and all. He turned to leave his little brother to it, when Sam turned around and stopped him in his tracks.

"Dean! I made you a bacon cheeseburger. Sitting on the table there. Oh, and there's some chocolate milkshakes in the freezer. Pull them out, won't you, and we'll have dinner here in a few minutes."

Dean turned, about to ask what the hell Sam just smoked to make him so cheerful, helpful, and downright pleasant after all the fighting, when he remembered he wasn't going to try to antagonize his brother any more right now. Sam furrowed his brow at his brother's reaction, and ran one of his gigantic paws through his hair in confusion—and there was the bitchface, full force.

"You're cooking for me now? What is this, some kind of half-assed apology? You're making burgers because _you_ like them, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, hands firmly crossed over his chest, body language saying don't-fuck-with-me, then threw his hands up in the air and stormed off.

Dean was still wondering what the hell happened when he noticed Sam's burger was burning.

The second time it happened was less than 12 hours after the burger-fubar. Dean had eventually eaten his—albeit cold but still delicious—burger and drunken the slightly crystallized milkshake after keeping the kitchen from burning down, put the plates in the sink, and went to go wonder what the hell happened to his brother. He returned to the kitchen after a nap to do the dishes; after getting a sink full of soapy water, a sink full of clean water, and a rag, he went about washing the plate from dinner, his glass, the skillet, and hey, there's a teapot sitting on the counter. Figuring he might as well wash that too, he picked it up—and wondered how his amazing little brother was doing, and if he'd like a cup of tea.

After the knocking-but-not-waiting-for-a-response shtick, he deposited a cup of steaming Darjeeling tea on his brother's bedside table, threw him a lopsided grin, and turned to leave. Sam stared at his brother with serious suspicion, but picked up the teacup—and returned the grin, full force, said, "Thanks, Dean!" and went back to reading his book. Dean chuckled at his little brother—the nerd—and went to take a shower.

He realized he was washing his hair and wondered how he got into the shower. Last thing he knew, he was washing dishes after his little bitch of a brother had made him some dinner then accused _him_ of making dinner as a "half-assed apology."

Dean washed out his hair, still wondering how he'd gone from standing—fully clothed—in the kitchen to naked in the shower, turned off the water, dried off, and got out. He was just going to get dressed, when he backed up to sit on the bed, and felt _something_ hard digging into his left butt cheek. Muttering in confusion, he shifted his hips and pulled out the offending article, intent on throwing in across the room when he saw what it was: _the_ amulet he had thrown out years before in a fit of anger at a God he still wasn't sure he believed in and regretted the act every day since then, knowing what it had done to his little brother.

He realized he was crying when the first tear fell in a wet plop on the shirt he was still holding and splashing onto his hand.

After getting control of his tear-ducts again—and scrubbing his face of all evidence of crying (because Dean Winchester still had his pride, after all), he knocked on his brother's door and waited for Sam's "Come on in!" before he entered.

Sam noticed his shaken appearance, but before he could say anything, Dean held up the amulet wordlessly.

"Oh, yeah—I found that buried down in a hidden pocket in my duffel, and I thought you might like it back." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "I know it's been a long time, but I thought you might want to wear it again." Sam ran a hand through his hair—and snarled at Dean, snatched the amulet from his grasp, and told him in no uncertain terms that Dean was _not_ to go through his shit and to get the fuck out of his room.

Dean was sitting at the library table, wondering what was happening, when Sam came down, looking guilty as all hell, and holding something behind his back.

The first thing Dean thought of saying he immediately discarded, because embarrassing his brother probably wouldn't help right now. Same for the second and third things.

Finally, he settled on "Sam, look, I know you—"

"Dean. Stop. I'm sorry."

Dean tilted his head at an angle, similar to how Cas does, and wondered what else of his friend was rubbing off on him. He figured he'd think on that later. Right now, his little brother was standing in front of him, apologizing, but Dean didn't know what for, so what he said next was meant to lighten the mood.

"Whatever it is, as long as Baby is in one piece, it's okay."

Sam barked a little laugh then brought his hands out from behind his back. He held the amulet out to Dean.


End file.
